The Dwarf Read online

  I think the world has gone mad! Lasting peace! No more war! What flummery, what childishness! Do they think they can change the cosmic system? What conceit! And what infidelity toward the past and the great traditions! No more war! Is there to be no more bloodshed, and are glory and honor to be of no further account? Will the silver bugle never blow again as the knights charge with their lances in rest? Will the troops never clash again and meet their heroic death on the field of battle? And then will there be nothing left to put a limit to the bottomless pride and arrogance of mankind? No Boccarossa with his broadsword, pock-marked and close-lipped, to show these people the powers that reign over them? Are the very foundations of life to be dislocated?

  Reconciliation! Could anything be more shameful? Reconciliation with a mortal enemy! What perversity, what warped and repulsive artifice! And what degradation, what humiliation, for us, our army, our dead! What dishonor for our fallen heroes whose sacrifice was in vain. It is nauseating-ly horrible!

  So that was what he was meditating. I often wondered what it might be-and that is what it was! And now he is in a better temper, he has begun to talk again as usual, and seems quite lively and pleased with himself. I suppose he thinks he has had a brilliant inspiration, a really great idea.

  There are no words for my contempt. My faith in my lord, the Prince, has suffered a jar from which it cannot recover. He has sunk as deeply as any prince can. Eternal peace! Eternal armistice! No more wars in all eternity! Only peace, peace! Truly it is not easy to be the dwarf of such a lord.

  THE WHOLE palace is upside down, thanks to this idiotic entertainment. One stumbles over brooms and pails, there are mounds of rubbish everywhere, whose dust clogs one’s throat when they are shoveled out of the windows. They have taken ancient tapestries down from the attic and rolled them out on the floor so that one treads on the sheepish love scenes; later they will be suspended on the walls to beautify this shameful “feast of peace and concord.” Guest apartments which had not been used for years have been put to rights again, and the servants run about like half-wits, scuttling to and fro in order to get everything done in time. This imbecile scheme of the Prince’s displeases them all, and besides, it involves so much toil and effort. They are doing up the Palazzo Geraldi, for it too will be occupied: Lodovico’s escort is going to be quartered there. They say it looks like a pigsty after Boccarossa’s stay. The larders are crammed with food, hundreds of oxen, calves and sheep, which the castellan has forced the wretched people to deliver, as well as grain and forage. They are, of course, annoyed, and the whole country is seething with discontent. I believe that, if they could, they would rebel against the Prince thanks to his stupid notion of a “peace feast.” Deer are slain in the parks, pheasants and hare are trapped and shot, and the boars are hunted in the mountains. The falconers come to the kitchen with their quails, partridges, and herons, pigeons are slaughtered, the capons in the coops are tested for their fat, and peacocks are selected for the great gala banquet which is to take place one of these days. The tailors are making costly attire for the Prince and Princess and all the patricians in the town, garments of rare materials from Venice -they can be had on credit, but none is given for the war. They fit and try on and go rushing in and out of the palace. Triumphal arches are being erected outside the castle and down the street where Lodovico and his train will pass. Baldachins are set up in front of the palace gate and inside the hall, and they are busy brushing and beating the carpets which are going to hang from the windows. The musicians drive one mad practicing their pieces all day long, and the court poets scribble some nonsense which is going to be recited in the great throne room. Nothing but preparations for this idiotic feast! It is the sole topic of conversation, nobody gives a thought to anything else. The whole court is in a turmoil and every corner is in disorder; one cannot take a step without getting in somebody’s way or stumbling over something; everything is in an indescribable muddle.

  I am so furious, I could burst.

  THE ENEMY has made his solemn entry into our capital, which was decorated in his honor as it never has been before. Lodovico Montanza and his whippersnapper of a son, Giovanni, rode through the streets, preceded by thirty mounted trumpeters and flutists, surrounded by a bodyguard of green-and-black-clad cavalry with their partisans in rest, and followed by a choice company of knights and nobles. Last came two hundred archers, also on horseback. Lodovico rode a black stallion, saddled in dark green velvet with silver embroideries and silver harness, and everywhere the people acclaimed him, as they always do at the word of command, irrespective of the object of their cheers. Now they pretend to themselves that they are delighted at the prospect of eternal peace. The Prince had sent three heralds to meet him and these proclaimed his arrival and the reason for his visit, and all the church bells began to ring. Our degradation could not have had a more brilliant inauguration. They even gave a salute from the moats with culverins firing up into the empty sky, but to my mind they should have been aimed at the arrivals and loaded with live ammunition. The princeling’s horse was scared by these or something else, and it seemed as though he might fall off, but he soon resumed control of his mount and rode on, rather red in the face. He looks childish and cannot be more than seventeen. Though the mishap was avoided, it made the people wonder whether it might not be an evil omen. They are always on the lookout for omens on these solemn occasions and this was the only incident which gave them anything to whet their wits on.

  Lodovico alighted from his horse before the palace gate and was welcomed by the Prince with grandiloquent phrases. He is a little stocky man with fat smooth cheeks so sanguine as to be streaked with red and a short thick bull neck. His scanty beard grows low on his cheeks and is scarcely an ornament to his otherwise comely face. The keen gray eyes try to look friendly, but that is nothing to go by, for we all know him to be a scoundrel He seems choleric and as if he might have a stroke at any moment.

  The day has been filled with reception ceremonies, meals, and negotiations about the pact between the two states, discussing its wonderful clauses and final wording. This evening there was an appallingly boring theatrical performance in Latin, of which I did not understand a word, nor did anybody else as far as I could see. But afterward they presented a scabrous comedy, in everyday language, which everyone appreciated. They all reveled in its vulgarities and numerous obscenities. I found it disgusting.

  Now at last the day has come to an end, and I sit alone here in my chamber and am grateful for my solitude. Nothing gives me such satisfaction as being alone. Luckily the ceiling is very low in the dwarfs’ apartment. Otherwise, they might have lodged some of the guests here, and that would have been frightful.

  That princeling is considered handsome, I imagine, but in that case he has not inherited his looks from his father. When he came riding alongside the latter, on his horse with its blue velvet trappings and dressed to match, people declared that he was good-looking. It is possible, but I find him far too delicate and unmanly with his hind’s eyes, his long black hair and the sensitive skin which colors up for no reason. It may be my fault, but I cannot bring myself to appreciate that kind of looks. To my mind, a man should look like a man. They say he resembles his mother, the fair and much eulogized Beatrice, who was very beautiful, and is said to be already in paradise although it is only ten years since she died.

  This afternoon I saw him walking with Angelica in the rose garden, and a little later in the day they went down to the river and fed the swans with bread crumbs. On both occasions I could see that they were talking to each other. I cannot understand what he could have to say to such a stupid child, nor can he have seen how plain she is, or he would have avoided her company. Perhaps he is as foolish as she.

  Naturally Don Riccardo takes part in all the ceremonies, pushing himself forward on every possible occasion. His wounds are already healed. What did I say? There is no sign of them, except one arm is a little stiff. So much for his heroism!

  THIS IS the third
day since the enemy came into the town. The festivities in his honor continue without a break and one never has a moment’s peace. I was too tired last night to make any notes and am writing this morning instead, just a few lines about the happenings of the day and my impressions thereof. The two princes left the castle before dawn and spent several hours hawking on the meadows to the west of the town. Lodovico is very much interested in the sport, and the Prince has a fine collection of falcons, including some rare birds which were presented to him by the King of France, and whose prowess he likes to demonstrate. Then they ate for hours, and there was a concert to which we were forced to listen, though I know of nothing more detestable than music. Afterward, we had Moorish dancing and music and some jugglers who aroused much admiration and were the only thing worth seeing. Immediately after this they started eating again, and went on until late at night, when a shameless masque was presented with men and women in such close-fitting garments that they seemed almost naked. By that time most of them were dead drunk. At last the day’s program was completed, and I was able to go to bed, where I fell asleep, utterly exhausted.

  All this time, the Prince is in the highest good humor, amiable and charming as never before. He cannot do enough for his “guests,” and truckles to them in the most sickening manner. It revolts me to see him. He and il Toro are like intimate friends; at least he seems to be a sincere friend. At the beginning, Lodovico was somewhat reserved and perhaps a thought suspicious, but all that has disappeared now. He came here with a strong bodyguard and a force of several hundred men. One wonders if so many warriors are necessary for the signing of a lasting peace, but such is the custom. And a prince cannot appear at a foreign court without a large train. I have all the customs at my fingertips, but I cannot bear to sit quiescent and see all these enemies around me.

  I cannot understand my lord’s behavior-how can he conduct himself so disgracefully toward our archenemies? I am utterly at a loss, but that is nothing unusual; it is my destiny never to understand this man. However I do not want to dwell on it any longer, but shall merely repeat what I have said before: that my contempt for him knows no bounds.

  Yesterday Giovanni and Angelica were together again more than once, apparently very bored. I saw them sitting by the river in the twilight, but this time they did not feed the swans nor did they speak to each other. They sat silently side by side watching the river flow by. They can have nothing more to say to each other.

  What else is there to write about? There was nothing else. Today the peace pact is going to be solemnly signed, and then comes the great banquet with its various pastimes which will last far into the night. I am very depressed and unutterably bored with everything.

  The Prince has confided in me-something so glorious that it makes the brain reel: I cannot breathe a word about it; it is a secret between the two of us. Never before have I realized how closely we are bound together.

  All I can say is that I am tremendously happy.

  The gala banquet begins at six this evening. It is to be the climax of the festivities, and such extensive preparations have been made for it that it cannot fail to be a success. I feel as though I were about to explode.

  He is a great Prince!

  NOW I SHALL relate the story of yesterday and, above all, I shall describe the great feast which concluded the peace ceremonies connected with the treaty between our princely house and that of Montanza, and what happened there.

  First we assembled in the throne room and the treaty of lasting peace between our states was read aloud. Its wording was eloquent and high-sounding, and it also contained clauses relative to the abolishment of the border fortresses and free trade between our peoples and various agreements to facilitate this trade. Then came the signatures. The princes stepped forward to the table, followed by their chief nobles, and put their names on the two large documents which lay there. It was quite impressive. There followed a blaring fanfare from sixty trumpeters who stood along the four walls of the hall, at a distance of three paces from each other, clad alternately in our own and Montanza’s colors. Then those present trooped into the great banqueting hall with the master of ceremonies at their head, to the festal strains of specially composed music. The mighty room was lighted by fifty silver candelabra and two hundred torches held by lackeys in gilded liveries and also by lads who had been taken straight from the streets, dressed in foul rags with their bare dirty feet on the stone floor. At close quarters they smelled very disagreeable. There were five tables in the hall, weighed down with silver and majolica and vast dishes of cold meats and fruit of every hue, and twenty large groups of statuary modeled in sponge cake, which they told me represented various scenes from Greek mythology, a heathen faith of which I know little. All the appointments in the middle of the central table were of gold-candelabra, fruit bowls, plates, wine ewers and goblets-and here sat both the princes and all the other persons of royal blood and our and Montanza’s chiefest followers. The Prince sat opposite il Toro and beside him was the Princess in a gown of crimson with slashed jeweled sleeves of white damask and heavy gold embroideries over her fat bosom. On her head she wore a silver net studded with diamonds which flattered her ugly chesnut hair and, since she had indubitably spent several hours painting herself, it was for once easy to see that her plump flabby face must one time have been very beautiful. She smiled her own special smile. The Prince wore a simple close-fitting suit of black velvet, the sleeves inset with pleated yellow silk. He was slim and youthful and supple as a rapier. He was rather reserved, but seemed to be in good humor, for time and again he stroked his short black hair as is his habit when pleased. I felt passionately devoted to him. Il Toro was clad in a short, very broad-shouldered coat of dark green cloth and rare sables, and beneath that a scarlet suit with heavy golden chains depending from the collar. In this garb he looked shorter and burlier than ever, and his thick bull neck protruded from the brown sable fur in all its crimson obstinacy. In appearance he was well-bred amiability personified, but one cannot judge by people’s faces. It is their bodies which show them as the kind of animals they are.

  Of course Don Riccardo was at that part of the table, in one of the best places, though by rights he should have been sitting at one of the other tables. He always pushes himself forward and naturally the Prince cannot do without him-nor the Princess either for that matter. He chattered and showed off from the very beginning, twiddling contentedly at his curly black beard. I gave him an icy glance, which none but myself could interpret. But enough of that.

  A little apart-though how could that be, since they too were sitting at the table like all the others -were Giovanni and Angelica, side by side. It was natural that they should have been placed together since they were of much the same age and both of princely blood. At least he is, but she may very well be a bastard. They were the only young things among the many hundred guests and they seemed more like children than adults, and therefore rather apart from the others. It looked almost as though they had come there by mistake. Poor Angelica was making her entry into the great world and was dressed up in a white satin gown with long tight-fitting sleeves of gold brocade and a coif of pearls and thin gold thread on her colorless fair hair. Of course she looked frightful, and for those who were accustomed to seeing her in plain almost common clothes, the effect was grotesque and pretentious. Her mouth was agape as usual and the baby cheeks red with shyness. Her big blue eyes shone as though they had never seen so much as a wax candle before. Giovanni, too, seemed rather embarrassed among all these people and kept throwing them bashful glances, but he was a trifle more sophisticated, and the bashful-ness appeared more to be a part of his nature. He was dressed in blue velvet with a gold embroidered collar and a narrow chain with an oval gold locket which is reported to contain a portrait of his mother, she whom they say is in paradise-but who can tell? She may just as well be writhing in purgatory. He is deemed handsome. I heard some of the guests whisper something about it, but when I then heard them talking about a “h
andsome couple” I realized that they must have a very peculiar notion of beauty. At any rate he is not to my taste. I think that a man should look like a man. One cannot believe that he is a prince and a Montanza. How will he ever be able to reign over a people and sit on a throne? Personally, I doubt if he will ever get a chance to do so.

  The children took no part in the conversation and seemed grievously embarrassed when anyone looked at them. Nor did they talk very much together, but I noticed how they kept looking strangely at each other, and smiling secretly whenever their eyes met. I was surprised to see the girl smile, for as far as I remember I have never seen her do so before, at least not since she was quite small. She smiled very carefully as though feeling her way. Perhaps she knew that her smile was not beautiful. But then I never think that human beings are beautiful when they smile.

  After closely watching their behavior I began to wonder more and more what might be the matter with them. They scarcely touched their food and at times they just sat there staring down at their plates. I could see that their hands were meeting in secret under the table. When anybody near by leaned against his neighbor and observed them, they became bewildered and red in the face and began to talk very earnestly to each other. By degrees I realized that there was something special between them-that they were in love with each other. This discovery had a strange effect on me. I scarcely know why it upset me so much, and made such a disagreeable impression on me.

  Love is always disgusting, but love between these two who were no more than a pair of innocent children, seemed to me more repulsive than anything I had previously known. The mere sight of it made me burn with wrath and indignation.